Not As I Know Him
by The Duelist's Heiress
Summary: Part of my "Powers" AU: This isn't my father, but a bizarre facsimile. He wrenches my chin to the right and my cheek touches the wall. "I don't think I can break you..." His lips are right by my ear and the words chill me to my core. "I know I can." He digs in again with his elbow and I hope that he isn't going to dislocate my shoulder. The pain is becoming unbearable.
1. Prologue

**DH AN: ** Okay so I have no idea how to explain this little Plot bunny other than it thwacked me on the head and would not leave me alone. It's not quite as important as a standalone, but will play a part in an upcoming fanfic I'm in the process of writing with my lovely coauthor **Ataahua. **This part as well as at least one more will occur in my alternate timeline. The first chapter will occur within a more canon context. Posting that chapter in conjunction with this one.

**AN 2: **Place in the Timeline: Approximately three weeks before **Healing Presence. **

Please enjoy the Prologue of **Not As I Know Him.**

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**Not As I Know Him: Prologue**

I look out the window at the passing scenery when the phone in the outer pocket of my cloak vibrates. I don't even need to look to see who is calling. "How far are you from your destination, Sharti?"

"Within the half-hour, Sir."

"You have your tools?"

"Yes." I pause. "I'm not so wracked by nerves that I'd forget the things needed." I pull the roll holding an archaeologist's toolkit from my inner pocket; brushes, delicate picks, a handheld flashlight. Tools intended to give the impression that there was no tampering, that the item anyone was after, was still there.

"And you know what you are after?"

"Yes." A ritual knife tracked to a cavern and concealed well enough to necessitate the use of tools.

"And your hands?"

"Steadier than they have ever been."

"So you aren't nervous at all?"

"No more than you would expect… the first time doing anything is a little nerving."

"You have nothing to worry about, Dear One." I close my eyes and can see my father's smile as he pauses for a moment. "I wouldn't have chosen you otherwise." I exhale. "I expect success, is that understood?"

"Understood." The word comes out forced.

"I look forward to seeing the results of your venture." Again he pauses and I can picture the expression. "I just wanted to contact you before you arrived at your destination. I know you won't disappoint me."

"Of course I won't." I can't help a smile as I end the call and the car comes to a halt. It's early in the morning and the sun is just now peeking over the horizon. Harkin has been instructed to stop about two kilometers away from the cavern.

Harkin smiles. "You'll be fine, kid." I nod and exit the car.

I make my path toward that cavern; it's a straight shot. I'm relieved when I finally reach it. Despite the early time, dark clothing and heat don't make a good mix. The cavern is cool and the item I'm after is in an area that requires no change of direction. There's no need for the flashlight. I narrowly avoid tripping but I slam hard against the right wall, shake it off and keep going. I reach the chamber where the knife is kept. The retrieval should take fifteen minutes tops, alternating between the picks and the brushes in an area in the wall close to the floor should yield results. I flick on the flashlight and set it on the floor, set the roll of tools beside it and remove my cloak and fold it twice and set it where my knees will be.

I kneel, take the first pick and start prying at the corner. I breathe and make the movements match them, developing a rhythm to get the bottom loose. Slowly and steadily, I move along the right until the pick vibrates when it hits the original rock of the cavern. Releasing my grip on the tool, I breathe deeply to steady myself again.

I repeat the process going upward and once it reaches the integral rock, I grab a prying tool and proceed to pull the compartment to my left enough to get my hand into the compartment. I feel for the tell-tale shape of a knife, narrow and sturdy. I pull it out and place it across the roll of tools. My glance doesn't drift to my spoils, rather it stays on the pried brick that I have to replace. Pulling a jar of vulcanized rubber cement out of my pants pocket, I set to sealing the edges that I had pried loose. When the stuff dries, the area will look almost like when I found it. I take one of the small paint brushes and dip it into the rubber cement and sweep it across the bottom of the section; the process picks up a small amount of the sand that I tracked in upon arrival. Again, that helps make the façade convincing. I brush two coats of the mix at the bottom and the side.

I pocket the jar after replacing the cap and then wrap the ritual knife in the center of the cushioned roll of tools. I get on my feet, pull my cloak and unfold it to pull it close around me. Stuffing the flashlight and tools into the inner pocket, I fasten the hooks and rise to my full height. I stumble through the path I entered, merely focused on the point of light at the end. I bump into the same spot and halt, fear stopping me cold as I hear the hollow sound of a wooden support beam hitting the floor. Before I can move, the beam across the ceiling falls and slams into my back. It's heavier steel. I'm knocked off balance and hit my head near where the floor and the cavern wall meet, landing on my back. I breathe heavily. I can't move, and I panic as my vision starts to blur and everything fades.

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**DH:** Again, the first chapter is also posted. Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter One

**DH AN: **Ok… This is why I affectionately call this my Hallucination Plunny. Enjoy Chapter One.

**AN 2: **Timeline: Canon, Pre-Battle City and before the events of the museum flashback.

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**Chapter One**

My head hurts and my eyelids are heavy. Opening them is a struggle, let alone rising from my position on the floor. I hear his footsteps and the steady cadence fills me with dread. They don't sound right.

"Harkin, get the girl a chair and help her to her feet." I barely process the sentence myself before the order is fulfilled. Harkin grabs me by the waist and plants me firmly on the chair. I'm shaking. My usual address has been forgone and I see only a trace of sympathy in Bryn's eyes.

I'm rooted to my chair as The R.H.'s next command comes. "You're dismissed, Harkin."

Harkin flees from the room as if his life depends on it. I wish I could do the same as The R.H.'s gaze narrows on me. He knows how much I hate this room... How I would never come here alone of my own choice. For the moment, I can tribute my mounting fear to that. Until he starts to circle. The pace is wrong, his posture is wrong, and he hasn't offered a single suggestion. The fact that the look in his eyes is frighteningly predatory sends chills up my spine. His eyes narrow and I wring my hands repeatedly.

"Such emotional control." His voice sounds right enough but it still doesn't quite fit. "How does a female execute that?" I tense and it takes that very emotional control not to prove myself a fool. I feel the hood fall from my head and I shake as he rolls strands of my hair between his forefinger and thumb. The action is foreign to me. This isn't my father, but a bizarre facsimile. This is not the one I've trusted for six years. My hands plunge into my pockets, panicking at their emptiness. "Pockets..." He muses, "what an intriguing concept."

I stare at the tiled floor as his footsteps cease. "You should be scared." I feel his stare and it's not pleasant. "I don't let trespassers merely walk away." I pale when he tilts my chin up roughly. "I see no use for a mute."

That hurts. I've _never_ been talked down to like that. I'm in a catch-22. I don't speak, I wind up somewhere unpleasant. If I do speak... I won't be able to stop my emotions from taking over. "I'm not useless, _Sir_." I accent the address just enough to punctuate the fact that I know exactly who's in control. It should buy me some time to plan my course of action. From what I can see of his face, my observation leaves him baffled. I cringe when he regains his composure sooner than I hoped.

"Deliberate and observant... Perhaps you aren't useless after all. " He sneers as his fingers slide from my chin. I shudder as he pulls my right hand from the safety of my pocket. Every one of my instincts tells me to prevent this but this is also a chance to observe him that I cannot pass up.

His thumb rotates circles on the top of my closed fist while his fingers work to release mine from the constriction. "You could try asking." I immediately regret saying anything when his eyes narrow and for a brief instant, he roughly squeezes my hand.

"Open it." His words come through clenched teeth. I comply; it's not in my best interest to refuse. My hand is now open and rests on his left palm. His right index finger glides across the ridged skin of my palm. He cares for his hands; they're soft and to my mild horror quite warm, almost comforting. He repeats the process then releases my hand. I blanch as he steps behind me. I know that the hands of man are fickle, his hands are no exception.

I only hear his breathing, deep, calm and calculating. My breaths are small and shallow. He's in control of the entire situation and knows it. I inwardly panic at the constant pulse of his breaths. I should know exactly how to deal with this, but it's not that simple. I don't have any protection should something go awry. I have no record of performance that could possibly lessen the blow of a lapse in my judgment. At the very least I have an outdated play book.

Though perhaps I could still make use of those details, I know _nothing_ of his methods... At least that's what I need to tell myself for my best shot at remaining in whatever good graces or toleration he has. Not having him in my line of sight terrifies me. I'm amazed that I can maintain my discipline and not show my anxiety.

His hands land roughly on my shoulders and that's when all of my composure leaves me. Control and authority, both fueled by a deep-seated anger that I don't even want to start dissecting, are the only things I feel in that moment. No comfort, no warmth. Only youth's arrogance and those unsettling differences are there. It fills me with dread.

"You're weak." He spits. "What use could I possibly have for someone who is so easily ruled by their fear?" He suddenly forces me to my feet by removing the chair and sending it skittering to the marble floor that is in desperate need of a polish.

I shake and clench my teeth to keep my tears at bay. This _boy_ doesn't deserve to know how torn apart I am. My eyes narrow on him as he steps back into my line of sight. He speaks again and his tone is so mocking that I start to feel my ire increase with every word. "You're just a girl." He steps toward me. "A small weak, scared, little girl." He stops inches from me, a smirk plastered to his face. "And that's all you will ever be."

If I have any sense whatsoever, it's cowering in a corner the instant after I backhand the stupid smirk off his stupid face and push him against the nearest wall. "I am _not_ weak!" I force the words through my teeth. "And if you think you can break me, you're a fool!" I dig my fingers into his shoulders and stare daggers at him.

The gravity of what I've done slams into me with a sickening twist. There's no opportunity for a slow retreat. The knot settles further into my stomach. Perfect. One of the few times I stand up to The R.H. and it's not even him. There's nowhere I can hide and everything I know about the one I have against the wall screams that he has no mercy. I refuse to show fear.

"The appearance of fear-driven strength… you're truly desperate." His voice is softly certain, commanding his knowledge of the human psyche. "Are you finished?" The calmness of his question fills me with dread.

I grit my teeth as 'I will show no fear' becomes my mental mantra.

I will show no fear. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction.

I will show no fear. I look into his eyes and nod.

"Good."

Before I can even prepare, my back is against the wall. He pins my right shoulder with his left elbow and restrains my left arm with that side's hand. He leans in, weight shifted on his elbow. I'm immobilized and can do nothing except tremble as his gaze narrows and his stronger right hand cups my chin with two fingers and his thumb, after which he squeezes. Fortunately the pressure is not from below my chin, which permits me to speak, at least physically. His breathing is deep but it's anything but calm.

He wrenches my chin to the right and my cheek touches the wall. "I don't think I can break you..." His lips are right by my ear and the words chill me to my core. "I know I can." He digs in again with his elbow and I hope that he isn't going to dislocate my shoulder. The pain is becoming unbearable.

"All it will take is one sound. Submit to your weakness and I'll take the pain away." His tone is lined with false gentleness.

"You want me to submit but not to my weakness..." It's a struggle to speak but at least it keeps my mind off the mounting pain. "You want me to submit to you!"

He laughs. It shakes his shoulders despite that it's muffled. His laughter is cold, calculating and dreadfully rhythmic. It's hollow and husky.

The laughter ceases as he yanks my face ninety degrees from the wall, forcing our eyes to meet. "Perhaps so; perhaps not." The smirk returns. "You're in no position to risk that by attempting to bargain with me." He digs in with his elbow for what I inwardly beg is the last time. "I'll even acknowledge a tear for a submission."

My mind screams a resounding 'no!' But my body... My weak, frail, pathetic body can't take any more of this. I shake as the single tear falls and the hungry cloth covering the arm that restrains me devours it like the paper of a contract absorbing ink.

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**DH: **I think I enjoyed this a bit too much. Thank you guys for reading. I need to tweak the second chapter and then that'll be out soon. Thank you again.


	3. Chapter Two

**DH AN: **This update also is a double, kinda seems to fit better that way. Enjoy **Chapter Two **of **Not As I Know Him.**

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**Chapter Two**

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He removes his weight from his elbow and then withdraws completely with two slow steps back. He's still controlling the circumstances and properly manipulating them into his favor but I don't care. The sweet, sweet relief is all I can think of before the gravity of the situation reasserts itself as pain shoots down my arm. The tears fall in rapid succession as I feebly slide to the floor.

My left hand goes for my right shoulder immediately. "It hurts." The words slice past my teeth and I moan under my breath.

There is the sound of a halt followed by the sound of ten careful steps each one getting louder. Before I can comprehend what's happening, nimble fingers are undoing the clasps at the front of my cloak and I'm again reminded why I _always_ wear a shirt underneath.

"Can you stand?" His inquiry is soft.

"It would be easier if I had a hand." He offers his. I take it with my right one and immediately regret it when my shoulder pain flares.

"Not a good day for you to be right handed is it?" His left arm slinks around my midsection as he pulls me to my feet. "Don't move." He fixes a few of the hooks on my cloak; one near the top, one near the midsection and the third from the bottom. He straightens it and pulls my hood back over my face. "Any attempt to escape will not be tolerated. Is that understood?"

"Yes Sir." I wait for a contradiction but to my relief it doesn't come yet. I have to ensure that I effectively toe the line. One crossing is a mistake, twice is a threat. Thrice ... That's a death wish.

An almost genuine smile crosses his lips as both his hands end contact with me. He steps out of the doorway and stops. He looks over his shoulder with a one-eyed glance. I hesitate. It's too familiar, too ripe for a misstep. I'm hesitant, rooted to my place.

Careful footsteps break my focus. He clears his throat. "If you want to lessen that pain in your shoulder, you would be wise to follow me." I exhale. He's not patient and another mistake like that could cost me. I nod and follow him. I pull my cloak tighter around me and keep my head down as we proceed through a chilled hallway. He stops at a door and opens it without hesitation.

I glance in. The room is small, with a table, two chairs and stone countertops and cabinets around three of the room's four walls. It makes me mildly claustrophobic.

"Go on." I scurry in and zero in on the table. Safe, stable; so opposite of how I feel. I swear as I brace myself on the table out of habit. Another swear rips from my lips as I attempt to correct it.

He roughly pulls me upright. "Language like that" I can hear his lips curling in distaste. "is quite unbecoming." He undoes the three clasps again and pulls the garment from my right side first, careful of the area where the sleeve's seam is distinct. He slips it off my left side with ease. "Sit." His voice reverberates throughout the room as he folds my cloak over his arm.

I sit and stare at the wall as he proceeds to hang it on a hook that I can't see... That I won't _let_ myself see. I'm again falling back on my habits. Eyes front. Attention on the task at hand. All second nature. All things that I'll eventually be forced to explain. I need a course of action when that time arrives. I'm bothered that it's not now. I'm vulnerable, stripped of any protection I have. It's the perfect time to further pry my psyche. He is still in control.

He sets the roll of bandages on the table and takes the seat across from me. It's his turn to observe. His eyes scathe over me... Condescending, piercing, absolutely terrifying.

I can't take the silence. Even him belittling me would better than the tension he's creating. "What is it that you want from me?" My voice breaks. Not once have I been so afraid... Watching the proposition unfold again would be better than this.

"It's not a matter of what I want from you..." He leans in with a dominating sneer. "Rather, it is what you _need_ from me."

"And what would that be?" I squeeze my hands into fists.

He stands and lets loose another round of terrifyingly calculated laughter. "Think." He challenges with careful steps matching the pace of his words. "Food, shelter, a place." He halts behind me and brushes my right shoulder with his fingers. I tense, as it's still tender. "And let's not forget care for your injury, my dear." More husky laughter, chilling, terrifying; especially when it's right next to my ear. "You are in no position to bargain." He starts to circle again, this time it's correct, familiar.

The question. "Why aren't you trying to?"

A first suggestion. "Do you want to stay in any good graces I have?"

The second careful circle brings another. "Are you hoping to garner pity from me?"

He stops again next to my ear with his correct suggestion. "Or are you too stubborn to admit that your entire existence from this moment is dependent on my whims and simultaneously terrified to acknowledge it?" He presses on my shoulder. I inhale desperately as I feel the smirk appear on his face, evident in the change in posture.

"Please... Please- no more." I clench my teeth. So much for not being weak. He doesn't even need to force my mind to submit. All he needs is pressure.

The pressure vanishes and he steps to my right with a frightening, almost sincere smile. "As you wish." He grabs the bandages from the table. "Hold your sleeve." I attempt to comply. I'm constricted as is, plus the injury isn't at all visible even if the sleeve isn't interfering.

He hesitates, running a finger across my shoulder. He frowns. "No, no that won't work... At least not if you wish to retain the integral strength of your shirt." He then suddenly drops the bandages into a random drawer with that same frightening expression. "I have a solution."

I don't like the satisfaction that oozes from his voice. "Stay here." Another round of chortling bounces around the room. I'm quickly tiring of his increasingly vexing laughter that I'm certain is at my expense. The door slams shut, leaving me to my thoughts.

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**DH:** Thank you so much for reading. Again, Chapter Three is also posted.


	4. Chapter Three

**DH AN: **Here's Chapter Three. Enjoy.

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**Chapter Three**

I twirl strands of my hair around my fingers as his words keep playing over and over in my mind. _Or are you too stubborn to admit that your entire existence from this moment is dependent on my whims and simultaneously terrified to acknowledge it?_ I stand and inhale sharply; this shoulder will be the death of me. I pace toward my cloak, the garment hanging from a hook near the door.

My fingers immediately rub a soft sleeve. It calms me; it's familiar and soothing. I treat it with delicate care and fight back tears as the image of my father's fingers on the tapestry invades my mind. I flinch when the door opens.

He laughs softly through closed lips. "Your strength is nothing more than a facade." I don't dignify him with a response. He sets the bundle he's had gripped in the crook of his arm onto the table. "Now then, shall we see to your shoulder?" I rub the sleeve for two seconds more and let the fabric fall through my fingers as I step toward him. Carefully. It's not submission. It's necessary for my survival.

He pulls the chair out and I sink into it. After pressing the bundle into my hands, he moves toward the door. "Change into that shirt." He turns the knob. "I will return shortly."

I'm silent as he exits. I shift my gaze to the strangely warm bundle. Setting it back onto the table, I start to unwrap it. The bundle consists of a black tank top, a small steaming loaf of bread and another smaller bundle wrapped in paper and tied with twine. I set the bundle and bread aside and pull off my gray long sleeve t shirt and pull on the black tank top. I'm glad he can't see me smile at its warmth. The cloth is so soft and cozy, almost sleep inducing. If I close my eyes for a moment I'll be just fi-

The door slams shut and any thought of relaxing is snatched away. "I see you found the shirt pleasing." He steps back to the table. "And that the food remains untouched."

He unties the twine on the bundle. The contents are unmistakable. Pomegranate seeds. "What are you trying to convey?" My eyes narrow. "Ambition? Some desire for prosperity?" I can't decide whether to smirk in triumph at the way his brows shoot up in surprise or to grit my teeth in anger. "Or are you alluding to a certain Greek myth to further drive in the fact that I have no choice but trust that you mean no further harm?"

"Not everything has meaning."

"Every single thing you do has meaning!" The words are out before I can reconsider.

"That's not a conclusion easily come across in a short period."

"It's a conclusion that certainly is to a point, true for everyone isn't it?" I attempt to mask my misstep. He doesn't notice or rather chooses not to comment.

"There aren't many who would bring it out in the open either. I could tell you there was no meaning behind these seeds." He picks one up with two fingers and a thumb, rolling it between them. "Yet that's not entirely accurate; for the principle of symbolism is two-fold." He moves the seed to his palm. "The one who views the object offers as much weight on it as well." He pops the seed into his mouth with a small smile. "Your suggestions are quite intellectual."

I can't mask my surprise.

"I can appreciate intelligence." He pulls the bandages from the drawer. "Knowledge and its application offer opportunity for revelation of truisms, and things about oneself, often courtesy of the observations offered by another." He purses his lips as he glances to the pooling bruise where arm and shoulder meet. He paces with those same careful delicate footsteps to stop on my right.

I flinch when he slides the bandages across the table. I shrink against the table as his hand moves toward my injured shoulder. "Relax..." He coos, soft enticing. "I have no intentions of harming you." His touch is light as he proceeds to bandage my shoulder, double wrapping the bruised area. "This should suffice." He smiles with that terrifying almost sincere expression again. His fingers brush against his handiwork as he watches me with discomforting anticipation.

When I don't respond, he again takes his seat across from me. His eyes pan over the still untouched bread. He pulls a portion from the loaf and the steam and aroma wafts through the room. Honeyed bread. He offers the portion to me.

I hesitantly take the offered bread. I pay no heed to the honey that oozes from the bread as its warmth wraps around me. It's warm and soft; I finally bring myself to relax. I exhale. Perhaps my strength is nothing more than a facade.

"You're lost. You have no place...yet." A half-smirk shows. "I can give you that."

I hear the unspoken "if you let me." I exhale again. "What do you want from me?" I stand and show a smirk of my own. "And before you protest, it's now a balance of what I need from you and what you want from me."

"And?" His tone is once more expectant.

"That's your question to answer." He is silent. He stands and faces the wall, retrieving another object from a drawer.

He tosses it onto the table. "Find the flaw." I take my seat and stare at the object in front of me. It's a worn deck box. Flicking the box open with my thumb, I catch the cards in my other hand. This is difficult. I thumb through the cards, finding no inherent flaw. Though, the same attributes and type among the monster cards is definitely a double-edged factor. It works because every card goes into the deck's integral structure. However, if an opponent plays their own cards correctly...the consequences are irreparable.

"This deck is too predictable." I say after a moment. "If your opponent backs you into a type or attribute based corner that is not favorable, you'll have to stay there. It doesn't leave much wiggle roo-" Before I can finish, he plucks the deck from my hands.

"How do you know?" He starts to circle around his own chair. Slow careful. "You possess nothing that would indicate knowledge of that." I would emphatically point to the cloak still hanging on its hook, but my sore shoulder makes me reconsider. That was controlled. I shoo away frightening thoughts of what his unrestrained anger looks like. Gesturing to my cloak like that would also reveal my tendency to allow my emotions free reign on occasion, something that rarely turns out in my favor.

His steps break my focus. His right hand lightly rests on my left shoulder and I see my cloak hanging from his left hand. "Now tell me why you know so much."

I start panicking. I can't do that. It's one thing I am certain of even if I have no clue how I wound up in this situation. At the very least the result would be a mental breakdown for both of us.

"I'm waiting."

I swallow my nerves and speak, the lie rolling so easily off my tongue that I believe it. I have to. "I had a tutor." And yet it's not exactly a lie. However everything that follows must be. My survival and pending subordinate status hang in how well I can execute my lie.

"Had?"

"He's been dead for seven years. I've been wandering everywhere since. My skill is good but no one has been willing to give me a chance to prove it; first because I was a child and now because I am a female." I don't dare look at him.

He exhales through his nose and I wait. "If I give you that chance... What would I receive in return?"

"What do you want?"

"Amuse me." He laughs briefly as I seethe; I've always hated that sentence. "What do you think I want?"

"Unquestionable obedience, unwavering loyalty and perhaps a listening ear." My outdated play book is coming in handy.

"Your name." He offers.

"Arlomhe Khouri" The alias rolls off my tongue smoothly. Again, something like this has to.

"Well, Ms. Khouri... save for your last offering, your suggestions are correct." The name rolls off his tongue with the same amount of ease. "That is what I expect of my... Employ." He places my cloak on my shoulders. "However... I would dismantle my organization piece by piece before I allow a female into my ranks..." He steps to my left and smirks as if to taunt me. "Regardless of how skilled she may be." He steps back to his seat.

I refuse to show how crushed his refusal makes me. A reaction would only increase ire... Mine or his, it doesn't matter. I'd be on the wrong end of either instance. Besides, I know that given free reign with selection of cards... I could cream almost any opponent he could throw at me. That's enough for me to be content. "Then what do you have in mind?" I ask.

"Something behind the scenes." He opens a cabinet and tosses a stack of paper and a pen onto the table.

"You have everything you need for an interrogating interview in here don't you?"

"Write, Ms. Khouri." He orders. "Your name. In print." I do it without question. However I pause before I transcribe; without the pause between the first and last name, I would have scrawled Sharti. He doesn't notice... Or rather, he chooses not to comment. I slide the paper over to him and shrink as his eyes scan over my print. He pushes it back. "Now write it in script." I do so; the loops feel more natural.

Pulling the paper toward himself, he stands. Leaning his head back, his hood falls. His face... Young, confident and to my horror... Completely unreadable. His eyes are the most striking feature. No warmth at all lingers in the lavender pools. He flashes his teeth which contrast heavily against his skin tone. He then purses his lips lightly, as if considering his options.

"This is my offer." He looks over the writing sample a second time. Stepping again towards me, he continues. "Legible penmanship is a dying quality, something that I need for my success." He paces out of my line of sight. "You can provide me that. In exchange, Ms. Khouri, a bed, food and all necessary supplies are yours." He exhales slowly. "In addition, I am certain I can provide advancement opportunities." He grips my upper arms with gentle fingers. His hands are warm, delicate. "Do we have a deal?" His voice holds the same features as his hands. For the first time, I feel safe.

"Are you willing to give that to me in writing, Sir?"

"I underestimated you..." The following laugh is warm and throaty. "You will have your assurance in writing."

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**DH: **Thank you for reading. And I do appreciate the reviews. Hope y'all have a lovely day!


	5. Chapter Four

**DH AN: **Here is Chapter Four

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**Chapter Four**

He smiles again, revealing his teeth. "And now Ms. Khouri, you are in need of a room." He leans carefully on his heels. Moving to retrieve a keyring with two keys, he returns to me. "One key for your room and one for the closet containing clean bed sheets and blankets. You will take two sets of sheets and a blanket." He grasps one key in his fingers. "You will surrender this key after you do so. I will then give you a key to the laundry room."

I nod, watching him carefully. "You start transcribing in the morning." He steps around me. "I will retrieve you myself." He stops and leans near my ear. "There are a few more matters that I will discuss with you then." He turns and looks to the door. "Is that understood Ms. Khouri?"

"Yes Sir." Again, correction on the address doesn't come.

"Shall we?" He steps toward the door. I rewrap the pomegranate seeds and stuff the bundle into my pockets. Pulling my gray shirt over the remaining bread and taking it into my arms, I rise to follow him.

"Ms. Khouri," He holds the door and sees me exit. I wait as he pulls the door shut. "Follow me."

The only sound is the echoing of footsteps on stone tiles. He stops before a door and presses the keys into my hands. "The closet is three doors down to the right." I nod again.

I hesitate as I hear him take two steps back. "Which key?" I ask

"You're as likely to choose correctly as you are to choose wrong. Why should I eliminate the fun?"

I exhale. "Why do I expect anything less?"

"Why do you expect more?" I plunge a key in the lock to a far point, but it doesn't go far enough. I growl with frustration as I yank the key out then switch. The tumblers yield to the key and I swing the door open.

It's small, with a bed against the right wall and a small desk along the left and a door to what I presume is an attached bathroom. Setting the keys on the desk, and tossing the bread beside it, I glance around again. There is a set of drawers along the wall that faces the door. I can work with this. I have to.

"Third door to the right, correct?" I ask as I glance to the desk. I find the keys missing and whip my head around to the door to find my host nowhere in sight. Great... I need my sheets and the method of getting them is nowhere to be found.

I exhale as I remove my cloak and toss it on the back of the chair. I lean on the desk. Footsteps echo on the tile and I turn to see him drop the sheets on the bed and then twirl the keyring, now with a single key, around his finger. He laughs. "I figured I would eliminate the confusion." He tosses the keyring at me and I barely catch it. "Do make sure you lock the door."

"Don't you have better things to do?"

"My matters are none of your concern." I turn so he can't see me roll my eyes. Should have expected that.

I pull the provided chair out and sit facing him. "I doubt you are content to just lounge around and keep an eye on your captive soon to be secretary." I smile. "You have other matters to tend to regarding this. The documents, a contract?" I cross my arms. "You don't want to be unprepared."

He narrows his eyes, rises and paces toward me. For a moment, I'm terrified that I've put myself into the atrium's circumstance again. He stops in front of me and his fingers find my chin. "I'll be ready tomorrow. My question, Ms. Khouri, is will you be?" He steps away and I flinch as he slams the door shut. I rise and my fingers fumble the lock on the door.

Stupid. That's the only thing that crosses my mind. Apparently I still have horrible timing when it comes to crossing him. I should know better. Especially when I have nothing to stand on. No track record. Nothing that will soften him. Collapsing in the chair, I tug my shirt from the bread and clutch it tightly. I toss it aside and then go search through the drawers for a towel. I need a shower, the mere idea soothing.

Finding not only a towel but also a rough tan single piece garment to change into afterwards, I relax as the steam envelops the room. The soap only has the overpowering clean smell. It's an acquired scent that I have no preference for. I find myself longing for the aroma of cinnamon or lavender. Even the spiced vanilla that I always would get berated over. I wring out my hair. Knotting the tresses into a braid, I set to making the bed. I start solidifying my story. He will ask more about it, especially after this. I sigh as I collapse on the bed and roll onto my stomach. I catch a lingering scent of lavender from the laundry soap and my composure abandons me a second time as the pillow absorbs my longing tears.

* * *

**DH: **Super short, I know. Next chapter will see us back with the AU timeline with what happened in reality rather than hallucination land.


	6. Chapter Five

**DH AN:** I lied I lied, we are still going to be in the 'hallucination' part a bit longer… sorry. Enjoy **Chapter Five**.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

I wake and first recognize the pattern of the ceiling tiles. Thank goodness...it was a dream. I sit up and my shoulder protests. The rough cloth scratches my back.

It's no dream. Tears roll down my cheeks. I can't face him yet. I stand from the bed and the blanket falls to my feet. I find my clothes folded on my desk and my cloak missing. That was not how I left them.

Those words pace uncomfortably through my head again as I inhale a faint lavender scent from my long sleeve shirt. _Are you too stubborn to admit that your entire existence from this moment is dependent on my whims and simultaneously terrified to acknowledge it?_

I sigh and pull my clothes to my chest and go into the restroom, unable to fight the feeling of utter fear squeezing me, boxing me in. Sliding down the far wall on the right of the room, I again permit tears to fall. I let a shaky fear-laden sigh pass my lips. He's right, I'm nothing but scared and weak. Rising, I exchange the tan garment I slept in for my long sleeve gray shirt and black pants. I hang the single piece on a towel rack.

I pace out of the restroom and collapse on the bed, trying desperately to remember before... Anything before I wound up in the atrium. Anything. Nothing comes except black. Nothing. I exhale, begging for something to at the very least make me feel safe.

_You'll be fine, kid._ The voice is faint and familiar, yet the words are taut rather than reassuring as I remember. If I remember. The words relieve me nonetheless and for a moment, I'm composed.

I stand bolt upright at three knocks on the door. I can't face him. I move to unlock the door, and stare at my feet. The door opens and the cold enters first. I turn away, shivering. He closes the door softly.

"Ms. Khouri." I stiffen as something warm wraps around my shoulders. Piano thin fingers take my right arm and carefully guide it through the sleeve. He does the same with the other side and then uses his fingers to pull my hair to rest on top of the cloak. "You have no need to conceal your face at this hour." He turns the doorknob. "You have business to attend to with me, over breakfast at a cafe." I spin on my heel to protest. "It's not optional."

"Fine." I wish it felt more defiant. But perhaps it was better that it hadn't.

"I knew you would see it my way." He steps out of the door and I follow him through the halls. He paces into a garage, enters a combination on a keypad to the left of a glass case and grabs a set of keys from it. He paces to a black sedan and unlocks it. He then returns to me and grabs me roughly by the arm and drags me to the car.

"Let go of me." I force the fear from my voice.

"Not until we are clear on the terms of this outing." His grip is hard, my clothes are rubbing against my skin. I know better than to pull against him. I inhale shakily. So much for showing no fear. He watches with a smirk plastered on his face twirling the keyring on his finger like the day before. "I trust you slept well last night?"

I give thought to not responding. Squirming under his gaze makes me reconsider. "Well enough."

"You will not attempt an escape." He releases his grip. "The opportunities will be plentiful. Is that understood?"

"Stop tempting me."

"You will be cordial, betraying nothing to anyone who glances or overhears." He leans in toward my ear. "And you will do as you are told."

"And if I don't?" I don't realize my mistake until I watch his shoulders roll with laughter.

"You think you have a choice?" He pushes me into the passenger seat.

"What makes you think I can't choose where my own feet can lead me?" My eyes follow his path around the front of the car to the driver's side door. I avert my gaze as he slides into the car.

"The desert would not spare you. No man can bargain with a force of nature. It has no good graces." He takes my wrist into his hand and I flinch before turning to face him. "However, man can modify it to their will, or make the best of the resources at hand. When finding the oasis, a traveler never walks past it without a stop. Moving on is of no great concern when water exists in the parched desert surrounding it." His fingers press lightly into my skin. "It would be unwise to test the waters that you now tread."

The last part, I understand. I'll have to decipher the rest later.

He places my wrist back into my lap. He starts the car and starts tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Seatbelt." He states after four repetitions. I don't dignify him with a response as I buckle the safety device. It's usually the first thing I do, but I'm not usually pushed into the car.

I look out the window as he drives out of the garage and into the predawn morning. Sand and dust fly visibly past the headlights. He stops the car just before the main road and shuts off the headlights.

"You have questions Ms. Khouri." His comment catches me off guard.

"Who found me?"

He doesn't answer immediately. I suppose he mulls it over because it's a piece he holds and the more pieces he holds, the more control he has. "Bryn Harkin brought you to me. He found you in the desert as he was returning from reconnaissance."

"I...I'll do whatever you ask of me... Just please don't punish him for saving my life." I start shaking.

"You have no significance to him."

"No one deserves unjust anger." My shaking still has yet to cease and I can do nothing to avoid him.

He is silent and opening the driver's side door, rises out of the car. I follow his movement around the back of the vehicle. He opens my door slowly. "Why do you fear?"

"I don't understand..."

"When you choose to fear what you do not understand rather than seek to know it, you remain ignorant."

"You misinterpret me…" I clench my fists. "And it's not that simple!"

He takes a flashlight from the backseat and flicks it on. "Darkness is merely the absence of light. And yet we are content to stubbornly stumble through the unknown even if we have something that will reveal obstacles so that we can avoid them." He places the flashlight in my hands but keeps his hold on it. "Fear is the same thing. It is an obstacle that can be seen that some would rather struggle with than conquer." He shuts off the flashlight and tosses it into the backseat. "Choose to conquer and control and you will succeed."

"I'm not merely something to be conquered. I'm no conquest!" I rise and stand, moving to grip his clothes and push him away from me. His laughter shakes my hands.

"So you push your fears away." He laughs more, low and throaty as he grabs my wrists and places them at my sides. "Interesting."

"I am not afraid of you!" I shake despite my determined statement.

"You are." He states quietly. "You think my purposes are to see you humiliated, and broken." He traces his fingers up my arm and reaches for my face. I intercept his hand and my own hand trembles.

"You hurt me." I throw his hand back at him and show him my right side and run the fingers of my left hand down my arm, feeling the rough binding underneath. "Fear isn't healed with bandages." I step away from him and the car. "I fear that I know you already far better than I should, because I know people like you."

"Do you?" He retorts softly. His footsteps are crisp and every movement creates noise.

"There are many people who degrade and manipulate to achieve their ends."

"And what makes you sure that I am among them?"

"Gut feeling."

"Your intuition is wrong, Ms. Khouri." I glance behind to see his posture is taut and his hands are clenched. "I have no desire to degrade you."

I turn to face him and step backward as he moves to close the distance between us. After he matches my paces five times, I halt; I refuse to run away now. I can't run away now. I square my shoulders, breathe deeply and wait.

He stops inches from me. I stare him in the face. "Do whatever you want with me... I-I don't care anymore." I'm shivering from the cold. He takes another step toward me and before I can even react, he pulls me in and his lips meet mine. He rubs his thumb against my cheek as he breaks what he initiated. It's calm, gentle; not something I can decipher.

"Why do you not wonder?" I see the lines of his face in the darkness. "And why did you not resist?"

I shove aside the query. I can't even answer myself, let alone him. "Breakfast, remember?"

"Answer my question first."

"What good would fighting the inevitable have done?" My voice barely carries as he paces back to the driver's side door. I didn't resist… Even here I can see when it's futile. It's useless to keep stumbling.

"Get in." He orders.

I wordlessly comply. I doubt it's wise to test him a second time today.

* * *

**DH:** Ok, first things first. No, it's not an indication of shipping; that's still kind of weird on so many levels. But… the darn kiss is something that I really was wanting in the plunny at some point… I was not expecting it this soon… I swear next chapter will be in the 'reality' timeline as in the prologue.


	7. Chapter Six

**DH AN: **Here's **Chapter Six.**

**Timeline: **Alternate Timeline, not the Hallucination.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

It's been an hour and Bryn Harkin bites his lower lip. Torn between disobeying orders not to intervene and just thinking his partner would be fine on her own was not a position he cared to be in at all. He leans his head back onto the headrest, analyzing the factors.

She knows what to do. In and out in fifteen minutes or less. Of course that was with perfect conditions and no trouble with the task. A few minutes deviance from the time is understandable, but forty-five minutes, no. Something is wrong. And no one had thought of getting a distress signal agreed on. It was an easy retrieval, ideal for a first solo mission.

He tears off his cloak and tosses it onto the passenger seat. By rote, he grabs the flashlight he keeps in the door of any vehicle he drives and bolts for the cavern on foot. At the mouth of the cavern, he skids to a stop as he hears the cell phone start vibrating on his belt. "It's been an hour." Bryn fights his shaking and isn't sure whether it's from fear or determination. There is a barely perceptible shift on the other end of the call, an unmistakable hitch of a breath. He turns and stares at his boots. "I… I think she's injured…it's the only logical explanation for her dragging like this."

"Proceed, Harkin. Just… find her."

"Of course, Sir." Bryn ends the call and turns on his heel, and passes the flashlight beam into the cavern. Small pebbles litter the floor; he spares a glance to the slight sagging ceiling, and he quickens his pace. He hears a loud thud and a moan. Upon seeing a large boulder he drops the flashlight and runs. He stoops down by Arlomhe and sees her arm caught between the boulder and the ground at her shoulder. He pushes the boulder to the side and just before he reaches for her, he sees her shed a single tear.

He picks the girl up, retrieves his flashlight and stuffs it in the loose top of his boot and sprints for the exit. He cradles her head as rock from the ceiling pelts his back. Maintaining his grip is the most important thing right now. Everything happens quickly seconds before he reaches the cavern exit. Instinctively, he bolts for the inner room as the cavern entrance collapses in on itself.

He leaps over the fallen steel beam and lands light on his feet. Bryn feels the slow rise and fall of Arlomhe Sharti's chest and lets out a sigh of relief. Every bone in his body aches as the adrenaline shifts away.

He sets Arlomhe carefully against a wall once he reaches the inner room. He pulls the flashlight from his boot and a utility knife from a pocket and sets them both down near his feet. There is another exit, he recalls with minor relief, but he frowns; there's no way he can carry her and have free use of his hands. His breath hitches. There is a generous amount of rope in the roll of tools.

He'll apologize later.

Undoing the first two clasps of her cloak, he carefully pulls the tools from the inner pocket, glancing at the sheathed knife rolled in the middle. "All right!" He can't help but smile. He shakes the expression off his face and procures the rope, cutting two small lengths and a larger one. Re-rolling the tools, he undoes two more clasps and slides the tools back into the inner pocket. He fastens the four clasps before proceeding. He takes the longer piece of rope into his fingers. Bryn kneels in front of his charge and feeds the rope behind her back and secures it with a knot around his midsection. He ties both of the smaller pieces around their wrists. He rests her head on his right shoulder and can't stop the relief that comes as air slides past his ear in even intervals. "You'll be fine, kid." This time the phrase is laced with doubt.

Bryn grits his teeth; he'll get them both out somehow. He conceals the utility knife in his pocket and grabs the flashlight and runs for another route. He comes to a dead end which makes no sense, this was supposed to be an alternate route. He starts to panic, it's been a good twenty minutes. The phone again starts to vibrate, which Bryn promptly ignores. He has bigger problems at the moment.

His charge is unconscious, he barely avoided getting them both squashed under that cave in, and there is no alternative exit where it should be. Until he looks up.

Aged rope handholds line the wall and he can see a small sliver of light at the top. He stows the flashlight in the right pocket of the girl's cloak.

"At least they aren't vines… or snakes." Bryn shudders at the thought. Never let your sister convince you to watch an _Indiana Jones_ film right before bed when you're fifteen and babysitting, it sticks with you for the rest of your life. He eyes Arlomhe over his shoulder. "I really wish you'd just laugh at me." He shakes himself loose. "Oh well my friend, up we go." He's careful as they climb up the makeshift ladder; the last thing he wants is to injure her more.

He finally reaches the top. And balks at the sheer drop; even with the natural handholds… one wrong move will lead to undesirable results. Jumping down is out of the question. A small drop is perfectly fine. This drop off a cliff, not so much.

The phone vibrates again. "Oh for goodness sake…" Bryn feels the words slide past his teeth in exasperation, but plucks the device from his belt anyway. He flips it open and listens. "What do you mean there are stairs to my right?" His brow furrows, "Look, I studied this place inside and out- there are no stairs- What do you mean you can see them?" Harkin slides air pas this teeth. "Fine, but you'd better not be messing with me; still haven't exactly forgiven you for the last time." Another pause, "For your information, yes slamming into a wall while sliding in socks _is _particularly painful." He sidesteps toward where there's a drop on the right. "I'm done talking to you, thanks for pointing the stairs out." He snaps the phone shut and stuffs it into his pocket.

"Fortunately, _you _caught me and you're amicable and a giver of second chances- and have never really been a hard believer in that whole, 'there's no such thing as confidentiality' spiel that I've told you I don't even remember how many times." He wishes she weren't unconscious. "That's the last time I let somebody goad me into something stupid after consuming what some call liquid courage- they _should_ call it liquid stupid." Harkin's steps are slow; he still wants to avoid jostling his charge. "Still don't have a clue why you didn't rat me out or hold my stupidity over my head."

The rest of the descent is quiet, save for the sound of Bryn Harkin's footsteps; they're not nearly as certain as he would like. He swallows hard. While he didn't leave her there… he can't help think he waited far too long to go in and check.

"Mr. Harkin." In an instant he's staring up at a half-tattooed face. "I was sent to retrieve you both."

"She…. She was pinned by a boulder when I found her and… and hasn't regained conscience since… Please know that I'd never-"

"You know that, I know that, and I'm sure He does as well."

"I-is he… is he here?"

"No. After you two didn't update a half-hour after last contact, we were preemptively sent out."

"Please tell me he also put a med team on standby."

"I would not doubt it. Now," Odion gestures to the vehicle with the driver's side door still open. "If you would surrender the keys… I think it would be best if you keep an eye on Ms. Sharti. You're far too emotional to be driving."

"We were supposed to prepare her for this! H-how can we… How can something like this be anything aside from neglectful…?" His entire body goes slack. "I waited too long. If I'd just been two minutes earlier."

"There's not much to be done now except to loosen your knots and head back." Odion shows a rare smile. "Good idea using the rope, by the way." He unties the knot on Bryn's dominant left hand and slings Arlomhe's left shoulder onto his own and once Harkin unties the right hand and central knot, he takes the rest of her into his arms and places her into the driver's side back seat. Harkin slides into the passenger side back seat and affixes Arlomhe's seat belt and then his own. The journey is a long and quiet one.

The R.H. doesn't leave Arlomhe's bedside in the infirmary for nearly a day.

* * *

**DH:** I promise that last line is not throw away… it'll have context soon enough. Chapter Seven is also posted and it's back in the hallucination as it were.


	8. Chapter Seven

**DH AN: **Here is **Chapter Seven **of **Not As I Know Him.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

The rest of the trip goes smoothly. He pulls into the almost empty parking lot, cuts the engine and quietly clicks the seatbelt release. He then glances to his right and studies his passenger.

She is somewhat slumped against the passenger side door.

Distanced.

Her focus is on something out the window.

Distracted.

The firm line of her lips plasters displeasure at her current situation, and she seems to fight nonexistent tears.

Distraught.

He can see her face clearly for the first time now that it's unhindered by his own shadow or dim lighting. Her jaw is set and her eyes narrowed, merely a façade of false bravado. His gaze drifts to her hands and he remembers their softness… and frowns as he recalls the concealed strength therein.

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel again.

"Seatbelt." This time, the phrase comes after three sets of taps. Once he sees her hand on the release button, he exits the vehicle.

Arlomhe Khouri rotates ninety degrees to her right after opening the door. Undoing her cloak clasps by rote, she keeps her attention focused on the procession of the man around the car. He stops in front of her, just barely leaving enough room for her to stand from her seat. He pushes the sleeves down her arms gently and when the cloak drops onto the seat, he motions for her to step to the right.

He starts to affix the clasps on the now wearer-less cloak.

"You're doing it wrong!" She yanks the cloak from his fingers, undoes the clasps, pulls the sleeves inside of it and folds it in half vertically with the open front as the outside fold and then folds it twice horizontally, as she has since she was seven. He watches her hold it to her chest and tremble. He cannot decipher if it's fury or fear. He lets her have a minute more before he pulls the bundle from her grasp, and more for show than any actual concern, places it neatly on the back seat. He pulls a handled black leather folio from behind the driver's seat.

"Now, Ms. Khouri remember the terms of this outing." He circles her once and smiles as he watches her squirm. "Consider it a trial run."

"A trial run for what?" He watches as she immediately tenses.

"Never you mind." He steps away.

"I don't know what you're aiming for. I'm not exactly fond of the idea that you're keeping things from me."

"That's more common than you think." His voice drops. "And you forget what roles are currently in play Ms. Khouri… I have every right to withhold what I see fit." He shoves her towards the doors. "You would do well to learn your place quickly."

He steps in front of her and holds the door, the picture of a gentleman. He leads her to the counter, but after a second, halts and points to a table in the corner. The girl needs no further heeding and walks, dejected, to it.

She watches as he flashes a charming grin at the female barista handling the register and feels her stomach twist in knots as the expression stays while he orders. Barely fighting down the bile that rises to her throat, she watches him pace to the table and set the folio on the floor to his right. He takes his seat and she swallows her fear as he studies her a second time- she hadn't missed his glancing toward her in the car. She would much prefer to have had the large desk between them in the much smaller office; she has no doubt she'd be able to handle that- if not with ease, then at least the familiar environment would provide some sort of normalcy. But this- she doesn't quite know how to deal with. She inhales through her nose and is reassured by the strong aroma of coffee that lingers in the air. At least that is a constant.

"Sharti!" A masculine voice booms and snaps her out of her daze, sending her instinctively to her feet. She blinks and spares a quick glance to her company; he's halfway to standing out of the chair and his lips are curved upward in curious amusement.

"I startle easily." She feels the words slide uncomfortably past her teeth.

"Seeing as you are already on your feet, retrieve our beverages Ms. Khouri." He dismisses her as he drops back into to his seat.

"Of course, Mr. Sharti." The address leaves her lips evenly as she steps toward the counter. She takes the drinks… or more precisely a drink and an empty cup. Merely by scent, she knows she holds a hazelnut coffee. When the scent of vanilla wafts over from a nearby drink, her breath hitches, and she inhales through her mouth shakily as her heart threatens to rend itself in two.

"Hey. What'll you have?" The barista with the booming voice asks. "You probably don't have use for an empty cup."

"A cinnamon latte. Please." Anything to get those mingling scents out of her nostrils and the memory of those associated with them out of her mind. She absolutely can't afford to break here.

"Hey Miss, you gonna be ok? If you're not careful, you'll crush that cup." She snaps back to reality and it takes a second before she nods a dismissing 'yes'. "And here's your…" His voice drops and his green eyes dilate in surprise. "Your drink Miss." He finishes softly. She hears unmistakable footsteps and quickly turns on her heel to meet them.

"Back to the table, Ms. Khouri." She hesitates for a moment. "Now."

Not the best time to pick a fight. "Of course Mr. Sharti." She quickly glances at the male barista's nametag. "Thank you, Nadir."

Nadir grins slightly but she notices he's paled considerably. She steps away from the counter but heads straight for the restroom. She shakes as she locks the door of the single occupancy room. "What is wrong with me?" Her voice is a whisper. "I shouldn't be that affected by a couple of smells." She trembles and wipes her face with a dampened paper towel and exits before someone can come banging on the door. _But they're so reminiscent of Father… _She barely holds back tears as she rounds the corner. She tenses; the barista at the counter looks absolutely shaken as those tell-tale footsteps retreat from the counter. _As is that. _She knows better than to ask. She waits two seconds before returning to the table.

"Learn now that it's not wise to keep me waiting." The cups are now in their places and the cinnamon aroma banishes the lingering hazelnut scent.

"Your terms, Mr. Sharti." Arlomhe lightly swills her latte and takes a sip.

"For a third time you fail to fully grasp our roles, Ms. Khouri." He mirrors her action, sets his own cup back onto the table and then threads his fingers. "I shall present my terms when I see fit." He rises from the chair and stares her down, a dangerous edge in his voice. "I wouldn't be so eager, my dear." He steps to her right and again she wishes this were his office instead of a coffee shop that's empty, save for the employees and them. "I settle for nothing less than perfection and you will be under heavy scrutiny until you prove your competence." He reclaims his seat. "Your three instances of near-insubordination are enough for me to reconsider giving any offer."

"Please…" She's on the verge of genuine tears. "I- Please Master Marik I have nowhere else to go." The address rolls off her tongue before she realizes the misstep.

"I never gave you my name."

Arlomhe quickly scans for anything with that name on it. The writing on his cup is far too butchered, and at best nearly looks like the more locally common name, "Malik." On the cusp of panic, she finds the name on the receipt and exhales. She can recover from the misstep. "It's on the receipt. I pride myself in attention to detail."

"Your use of the correct title?"

"Merely desperation and nothing more." She shakes in her chair. "Please Sir, you can't send me away with nowhere else to go."

"I can, but so long as you stay in line I won't have to." He seems satisfied as he watches her shrink into the chair. "You will quickly learn to do as you are told, Arlomhe Khouri. I have neither patience nor use for one who will not follow instructions."

"I can." She squeezes her hands into fists. "I-I can."

"Fetch the barista, Nadir, and bring him to me. After you have done so, wait outside with one hand on the car." She pales. "Now, Ms. Khouri!"

She narrowly avoids falling out of her seat as she scrambles to the front. Nadir flashes her a grin, seemingly recovered. "How was your drink Miss?"

"Quite nice. I still haven't finished it yet." She shrugs and exhales. "The gentleman who's with me would like a word with you." Again, Nadir's eyes dilate, this time it's distinctly from fear. Arlomhe pales…She's seen this exact reaction. This may be a very difficult situation and not one she cares to be in. She's looking at a Rare Hunter.

* * *

**DH: **Sorry for the Cliffy. But please review?


	9. Chapter Eight

**DH AN: **Here is **Chapter Eight **of **Not As I Know Him.**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Nadir stays rooted in his spot. And I can't say that I blame him. I watch and wait. He calls over a coworker to cover for him for a bit while he claims the need to deal with a customer complaint.

"This is probably the only time I've been anywhere near glad to be a shift manager." His face has no color.

Studying him as I lead him to the table, I estimate he's somewhere in his early to mid-twenties. Black hair that ends slightly above his jaw, clean-shaven, green eyes that are now somewhat dull. He forces a small smile my way, but I don't return it. Far too close to the table to risk it. He sighs loosely, perhaps understanding why.

I square my shoulders and sidestep back in front of my seat. "The barista, per your request Sir."

"Leave us, Ms. Khouri."

"Permission to take my drink?" Annoying, perhaps, but I'd much rather ask than assume.

"Granted." It's short, clipped, and if that doesn't convey that he wants me out of his sight as soon as possible, the stare he gives me certainly does. As I make my exit, he presses a button on a remote hanging on the outside of the black folio. "You're welcome to sit in the car." I nod and step towards the door and out into the sun. I open the car door and sit with the door on my left and my drink in my right hand. I have pieces to put together.

I have no offer yet.

If I manage to avoid any more missteps today, it will be nothing short of a miracle.

I miss my father terribly. That particular piece has me fighting tears as I inhale the cinnamon scent of the coffee and take a sip. Once my hand stops shaking, I place the cup by my feet and use my fingers to count the other pieces.

Nadir is a Rare Hunter. I may well see a lot more of him.

_This _Marik Ishtar- I don't expect him to _ever_ purposely reveal his surname, so long as I conceal the fact that _I _know, it's a piece I'll be happy to let him think he has- is far more terrifying in the same role. This one lacks restraint. Less rooted in logic. Still an expert at striking fear into those who commit even minor infractions. The one who I'll have to answer to.

I pick the cup off the pavement to finish the drink. The purple cup sleeve catches my attention. A freshly round risen sun, the gold striking against the purple background takes up the center of the sleeve. The sun creates the 'O' in the 'Ostara coffee' logo imprinted on the sleeve. I knead the skin on my forehead with my left hand as I ponder the cup still held in my right.

_Ostara _is more commonly known as _Ēostre_, a dawn goddess in Germanic tradition… However, with enough pronunciational butchering and without proper attention to it- you get the name of a completely different goddess… _Ishtar_.

The coffee shop is a front. Probably so that the income will be less suspect by the families and by any authorities who may wander too close. This is definitely _not _knowledge that I'm supposed to have. It's all conjecture…Of course, it's also a bit of etymology- which has always fascinated me.

I watch through the immaculately clean windows and immediately switch to my periphery vision. But Marik's abrupt ascent from the table catches my attention and I can't help but watch as he mouths what is unmistakably "Is that understood?" Two seconds pass before Nadir utters what I can only assume is a shaky and near voiceless "Yes." Marik nods and turns swiftly on his heel, entire body taut, only loosening upon stepping over the threshold. However, his steps remain slow purposeful harbingers of dread, stirring up fear that I cannot push down.

I tense immediately as he stops to place the folio back into the space behind the passenger seat. "Did you enjoy the fresh air, Ms. Khouri?" I don't miss his eyes subtly shifting between me and the coffee cup in my hand.

"Yes. I also liked not having to sit on the pavement."

"I do appreciate your cooperation in this minor detour."

"Detour?" I question, hoping against hope that it's not obvious that I again piece things together. "Do you own the place or something?"

He doesn't answer. It's a piece of his to keep. Of all the things that I should understand…that is something mutual. Without a word, he steps toward the driver's side door, opens it and slides inside. He leaves the door open however, and after a few moments he pushes frustrated air past his teeth and rises and comes back to my side of the car. He snatches the near empty cup from my fingers. "Why so focused on the cup sleeve, Ms. Khouri?" I pale, his word choice and tone concerning. Calm fury… I am in major… _major_ trouble.

"The name and design are very intriguing." The words come fast and it isn't a complete lie. Everything in me sours… that's not a sating enough reason.

"Why, Ms. Khouri?" The words come on a near whisper.

My words are quiet, almost accusatory. "Fitting for a coffee shop to bear the name of a goddess of the dawn." I just barely swallow my fear as I rise from my seat and pull the cup gently from his loose grip.

"And where else does your mind wander? The reference to the pomegranates yesterday, and the knowledge of a goddess very remote from the mythos of Greece today… Care to make it three?" He smirks. "Amuse me, where has your mind led you?"

I seethe at how he's successfully known which button to push and the words are out before I process… I thought I was tighter-lipped than this. "Babylonian mythology… Principal in a small part of the ancient epic _Gilgamesh, _… War goddess who certainly doesn't like it when things don't go her way. Threatens unleashing utter chaos within the epic… " The words spill and by a miracle, I avoid naming it completely…it's my most valuable piece after all.

"And just what makes you think of an ancient goddess in the world's bread basket?" I feel a nudge in the back of my mind and hope against hope that it's not written all over my face… but that damned smirk reveals that indeed the panic is there. "What connection does your mind draw from the name _Ishtar_?" The nudge recedes as he still wears that smirk.

"Rearrange the letters of your surname and tell me, Mr. Sharti." My eyes narrow.

"You see an anagram where there is none." He dismisses it and I decide it's in my best interest to let it be. "Clever, though." I roll my eyes.

"Let's just go."

"Not fond of stalling, I see." He proceeds back to his side of the car and I swing my legs in and close the door. "Stalling does no good, it merely delays the inevitable."

"And yet you still keep talking." Despite the warning bells going off in my head, I feel my lips curl into a rather daring smirk. I watch his eyes narrow through the mirror affixed to the windshield. Like lightning, he grabs my left wrist and pins it to the small space between the parking brake and the gear shifter. I inhale sharply through my teeth as his fingers press mercilessly into my arm.

"Fighting is rather useless." He presses again and I desperately try to control my breathing. "Especially when the only one responsible for this predicament is you." His gaze catches mine and I freeze.

"Le-Let go." I yank my arm back but he's unyielding… I tremble; the last thing I need is to injure my other shoulder. I feel that nudge again and the thought oh so briefly crosses my mind. I can't consider it for more than a second… that's his piece. And if he finds out that I know… it's certainly a disaster waiting to happen.

"Everything is mine to withhold or grant." My breath hitches as he pauses, for effect I'm sure. "For the moment, I choose to grant you relief." The pressure vanishes and I pull my arm back and hide my reaction at his finger impressions that I can feel underneath my sleeve. "Know this…" Again the pause for effect. "You are on very thin ice and I'm certain that I don't need to remind you of what hangs in the balance." He pulls out of the parking lot and we're off to the next destination. His eyes are on the road enough that I can spare a glance to my arm without drawing his attention. I rub my arm gently, willing the marks to vanish. I don't know how much longer I can last… or how much of his patience remains. It's not something to test. My shoulder and arm throb in near synch with each other; the shoulder's radiating pain lasts a little longer. I sigh loosely and watch the passing buildings with minimal interest.

He pulls into a strip mall area, parking near the edge suite. He exits the car and winds around to again grab the folio from its place behind the seat. He pulls my car door open and glances at my arm for a second before turning his gaze to the building. "Now then, if you'll follow me, Ms. Khouri, my offer awaits."

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"Ēostre- or Ostara, Dear One-is quite incorrectly associated with the goddess Ishtar…" He reads from a footnote, voice soft. "Though, it's an honest mis-association. With enough pronunciational butchering… you wind up across the ocean in the bread basket of the world." Of all the books he ran to grab to help maintain his sanity, he wound up grabbing a volume of world mythology, and is scanning through the epic of _Gilgamesh _\- far more daunting in length than the Greek myth of Persephone and Demeter that he had started with. The words help shift his focus away from the repetitive sound of hollow breaths. He sets the book aside for the moment. He sets a hand on her arm and lightly squeezes and trembles.

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**DH: ** Please Review. And thanks for reading.


	10. Chapter Nine

**DH AN: **I've been busy and the plot bunnies finally bred for something that is not the "owmyheart Fitzgerald quote inspired oneshot" plunny of doom. Enjoy **Chapter Nine **of **Not As I Know Him.**

**AN 2: **_Italics _indicate handwriting.

**PoV: **Starts in 3rd, but shifts about midway through to 1st Person Arlomhe

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**Chapter Nine **

He holds the door open for her again and is relieved that he gave the office staff two days off. While Ostara Coffee is indeed a cover, by no means does he cut corners when it comes to employee satisfaction- after all the first line of defense is essential to provide the proper fair warning, and he hires well, regardless of where the manpower goes. Incentives are the key. There is no logo or anything indicative of the business on the walls- the space is temporary although the rent is paid for through two years.

He hears her cadence match his as he enters the office building. "Age?"

"Fourteen." He arches his eyebrow. The answer was rather quick…for a fraction of a second he thinks it could be a lie. But for the moment, that's unimportant.

He stops in front of an office door in the back that has "N. Sharti" in white lettering on a dark purple nameplate that's slid into a place in the center of the door. "From?" He unlocks the door and steps inside to set the folio on the left side of a black metal, clearly commercially produced, desk.

"Luxor" That answer too is immediate, but more believable. Not knowing where you come from inhibits moving forward. He gestures to the open single chair right in front of the desk and watches Arlomhe Khouri step inside and claim the seat, her focus on the desk before her rather than wandering every which way around the office. As if she's done this sort of thing numerous times. He steps to the door and closes it from a fair reach.

From the corner of his eye he sees her subtly stiffen as he locks the door. "Education?" That question stalls her, as if it's not one she's prepared for. He decides it's in his interest to amend the question. "Did that tutor of yours provide you any formal education, Ms. Khouri?" He paces toward the desk and stops to its right, his fingers resting far too delicately on the corner.

"The essentials, reading writing and arithmetic." The admission is quiet, careful.

"And clearly penmanship." He offers.

"One's handwriting," Arlomhe Khouri straightens in the chair as her tone grows defensive and, if he isn't mistaken, slightly reminiscent. "is their own… it is something that is forged at an individual level though the rudiments remain similar. We take what pleases us in another's lettering and attempt to make the features integrated in our own. " She rises, pulling a blank sheet of paper from a stack on the desk's left corner and plucks a pen from the cup beside it. He watches as she takes the pen to the paper, and wields it as if it's merely an extension of her arm. He faces the wall as she works. Only when he hears her return the pen to the cup does he glance at the paper. It only reaffirms his decision for her hire.

_In the end, one's handwriting remains their own. The influence of another, however subtle, is preserved for many different reasons… something as simple as the words pleasing the eye, or as complex as preservation of characteristics that were those of someone the writer lost._

She returns to her seat as he reads it over twice more before flipping the sheet of paper over to a blank side.

"How sentimental." She seethes at his nonchalance and almost mocking tone and has to fight to keep her composure as he slouches into the office chair behind the desk.

She manages to control her shock, but just barely. She pushes down shame for her fear of someone who lacks an office presence. And simultaneously feels she should be thankful for that… this Marik is frightening enough without the office control. Aside from that left corner, the desk is a chaotic assortment of papers and a few wrappers from pre-packaged dry foods. She can't see a trashcan anywhere in sight.

"Tell me, Ms. Khouri," She stiffens again as she readjusts her earlier assessment as he pauses. "Where does your mind wander?" He finally stops slouching, clears a small space in front of him, dropping papers into a drawer on the right and the garbage into an in-desk trashcan on the left. What she sees of his physical presence in the space perhaps finds her assessment that he's lacking correct but in terms of the office as his advantage, that remains the same, perhaps it's more prominent.

"You don't use this much do you?" The walls are bare and save for the desk, both chairs in use, a small filing cabinet in the left corner behind the desk, and a larger end table in the right back corner with a closed laptop computer on it, there are no other notable furnishings in the room. And there is not one personal belonging aside from the folio he brought in.

"It is my space to use as I see fit, Ms. Khouri. Frequency or lack thereof falls under that." His response is tart, not defensive. His eyes narrow at numerous knocks on the door. "If you would, please permit a suspension of our discussion Ms. Khouri. I trust that you understand good things come to those who are patient."

Arlomhe lets frustrated air slide lightly past her teeth and stands from the chair before heading towards the door, all while the knocking has increased to banging. Opening the door, she balks at the near solid wall of a man whose blue eyes blaze. He looks at the very least in his twenties, very short black hair, clean-shaven. Eerily familiar. His entire body is taut as if he's ready to take a swing at anyone unfortunate enough to cross him. "Where. Is. My. Sister?" At this, Arlomhe steps back twice, watches warily as the man enters and then slides past him and straight out the door. Body language from the entrant alone is enough for her to keep herself out of this.

She hooks the doorknob on her way out and shuts the door, but is unable to avoid feeling a shudder run down her spine as her stomach knots as Marik's response to the man filters through the door. "Your sister is provided for, Mr. Rejorahl."

I quickly sidestep to the left and slide down the wall, my chin finding rest on my arms. I tremble as I recall the honeyed bread from yesterday…Raji Rejorahl's honeyed bread. The role is the same. However, if her brother is attempting to intervene, the dynamics are severely different. I startle as I hear the clear echo of hands slamming against the metal desk-open hands- and chances are good that Marik is not the one suffering the emotional lapse. I stand and pace, none too eager to hear someone fight a bit of a losing battle. It's never pretty.

I pace over to a waiting area and claim one of the two burgundy armchairs, unable to quash the feeling of impending doom that couples well with the still stomach knotting nausea of the eerie, certain déjà vu. I signed my contract in a similar chair. I may not know how I got here…but I certainly remember everything before my… gap. Almost seven years under the hood started with a contract, signed in very similar chairs. I inhale sharply as I think of Raji.

On our first meeting, she'd given me soup. She has always been the embodiment of the word backbone. And has always, _always _been valued. If anyone has the nerve to treat the kitchen hand with anything less than respect, I don't take to it very well.

I watch the door and grimace as my stomach firmly knots itself again. I'm in no place to step in. And I know I'm testing his patience. But I know I cannot just sit quietly by- it's not exactly in my nature… nor has the tendency been nurtured out of me yet. The door opens and I watch as Mr. Rejorahl steps out, repeating something that I don't catch until he walks past me.

"I have to find Raji." The phrase is soft, the crux of his focus. And it fills me with dread as I see his blue eyes are soulless. I don't want to even acknowledge what that means. It merely confirms that my earlier experiences of mental nudges were no accident. I linger for a few minutes in the chair. I have no urgent desire to intrude and a few moments to regain my composure and get my head on straight is no doubt in my favor.

"Quite comforting that you seem to know when not to snoop, Ms. Khouri." Marik steps lightly around me and takes the seat opposite mine and sets the folio on his right. "Would you rather conduct the rest of our business here?" His eyes pan over me and by a miracle I resist the instinct to squirm. "You seem more at ease." Even though I'm not in the corner of the room, I feel without an escape and I don't like it.

"If that is what you want, I will comply." In response, he merely takes the folio and thumbs through its contents, frustration evident on his face with each paper he passes that is not the one he seeks. I don't dare move as he reaches the end of the folio and I feel the breath rush from my lungs in relief as he finally pulls the last paper from its rest.

He sets the folio back to his right and hands the paper to me. "Our contract Ms. Khouri." He then pulls a classy looking ball point pen from his shirt pocket. "Awaiting your perusal, approval and signature."

I start to shake- not at the terms of the contract. But at his handwriting… it's careful and almost childishly so, as if he's learned to form the Latinate letters recently, or it's not his primary writing method. The lettering, while still legible, is far smaller than what I'm used to and there are no flourished characteristics whatsoever. The only thing that remains true of both his hand and my father's is that the letters are constant. I close my eyes and breathe deeply before I set to read his terms. It's merely two paragraphs, but it adequately fulfills the purpose for an employment contract.

_The title for this position is "transcriptionist." The duties for this position include ensuring legible copies of all paperwork on file and that comes into possession of the organization, adherence to a filing system to be determined by the employer and any other reasonable requests. Employee will have two (2) days to complete transcription of fifty sheets front and back of original copy for an eight day probationary period. (200 sheets minimum) After probationary period has ended, employee must transcribe a minimum of 150 sheets of original copy per week. Transcribed copy will be delivered no later than 9 AM every two days during the probationary period and no later than 9 AM on Fridays after the probationary period. _

_Benefits immediate upon hire are room and board, food when so desired, three weeks' worth of clothing, access to laundry facilities and two reams of paper weekly. There is room for discussion of monetary compensation after two weeks. The employer reserves the right to rescind or modify the terms as necessary. If the offer is not rescinded, contract may only be amended in favor of the employee by mutual agreement._

"That's quite an amount…"

"It's my only offer Ms. Khouri, I suggest you take it." He twirls the pen rather idly and I catch sight of the Ostara Coffee logo on its side.

"So you do own that coffee business, albeit under a different name."

"That is not the matter at hand, Ms. Khouri." I pale considerably as his tone shifts from defensive to threatening. "If you're wise, you will cease your inquiries on that matter immediately. Is that clear?"

I nod. "The pen, please." He passes it to me and watches as I sign below his own signature and I am again thankful that, by a miracle, I sign "Khouri", rather than "Sharti", especially with current circumstances.

"You're hired. Welcome to my employ, Ms. Khouri." The sentence scares me far more than "Welcome to The Rare Hunters" ever did.

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**DH: **For the record, the AU Raji does not have a brother, just figure I would clarify that. Thanks for reading and please review.


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